FORGET-ME-NOT. 
53 
l 
I 
The Myrtle had its birth in the sunny clime of the 
East, and first grew amid those gardens where the 
dark-eyed daughters of the sun, as they floated through 
the mazy circles of the dreamy dance, shook out their 
silken ringlets to the dallying wind. In many a peace¬ 
ful valley which nestles down between the mountain- 
passes is it found, with its beautiful white blossoms 
blowing amid the untrodden solitudes, and filling the 
air with fragrance for miles around. The fair maidens 
of Judea bore it in their processions, and twined its 
scented branches into green arbors at their solemn 
festivals. And among the ancient traditions of the 
Arabs it is recorded, that Adam bore in his hand a 
sprig of Myrtle, when he was driven from the garden 
of Paradise,—it might be from the very bower where 
he first breathed his love into the ear of Eve. 
In spring the green woods of merry England are 
covered with the flowers of the Anemone. Turn the 
eye whichever way you will, there it greets you like 
“ a pleasant thoughtit forms a bed of flowers around 
the foot of the mighty oak, and below the tangling 
brambles, which you may peep between, but cannot 
pass,—there, also, are its pearly blossoms bending. 
The Greeks named it the flower of the Wind, and so 
